


OTPoW Smutlets

by Merfilly



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 03:04:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1288816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/pseuds/Merfilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3 brief scenes of Slade and Dinah's evolving sexual relationship</p>
            </blockquote>





	OTPoW Smutlets

**Author's Note:**

> These were to be part of a table of fifty, but alas, I ran out of steam. The table got repurposed and those will be posted later.  
> Written after 2009, I think.

_"Strap in, Slade, this might get bumpy."_

He looked at her, hearing a note in her voice that made it sound like a challenge. Of course, he didn't, as he admired the versatility of her skills in piloting the heap out of the waters of the isle that had tried to chew them up and spit them out.

 _"Yeah?"_ He tossed the challenge right back at her, dropping the pitch of the voice just to see if she'd shiver. He admired her cool poise, when she turned the conversation to the trip without more than a slight shift in her body language.

Days on that island, after waking to her holding a gun on him, all adrenaline and action the whole time. It had to have done something to scramble his brains, if he was honestly forgetting the first rule of business with heroes around.

Never let down your guard. So why was he standing here, undressing her with his eye?

_"Home safe."_

He snorted, remembering bitterly the cost of this mission. _"And no paycheck."_

_"Is it always about cash with you, Slade?"_

The resignation in her voice, with a playful edge, was just too much bait for him. He had fallen too easily the last time into her little snark-fest of first name basis, getting too familiar with her in turn. He figured he could make her shut-up or put-up with that opening though.

 _"Only when I want to buy things."_ He put the full charisma into it that had kept Lili Worth perfectly happy to have him on call for years, the deep resonating pulse of desires he knew were there, controlled for now, pushing his voice lower. Adding the full appreciation of her form with his wandering eye, consciously making it obvious to her was just the right measure to bring this game to an end.

He was quickly disabused of the notion it would end with a flush and an attempt to turn the attention away. She looked at him, entirely too keyed up by the week, by his parting gesture to the marines maybe, or just still riding the adrenaline. Her body, her scent, everything told him she was more than willing to walk the dangerous road. 

Only that red-headed witch chose just then to interrupt, to get a sit-rep and arrange the rendezvous with a pick up by the US Navy.

//Surely she'll let it go. Even if you really don't want her to?//

He stood with Fyres and Hawke until the briefing ended, then watched her calmly tell both the other men to stay with Camorouge. When she looked back at him, her eyes, the lines of her body told him all the same story.

She wanted him, and she was going to take advantage of the isolation to see just how far they could take it.

He didn't need to say anything as he threw the lock on the pilot cabin's door. Didn't have to speak a word as he picked her up and set her back on the counter. Wouldn't protest when her mouth found his, and they were pressing close, frustrated by two layers of armor between them.

He let her open her own...she ran too close to the Bats to risk booby traps... and handled his belt as well as his pants. She hadn't even begun to cool by the time he had a condom, her kisses sharp and biting along his jaw line. It didn't hurt a bit when she started fondling the collar around his throat when he entered her, her small gasp the only sign she gave him for the abruptness of it.

He decided that maybe letting his guard down wasn't so bad, this once, when her teeth bit his ear to keep her voice from exploding as they both vented the adrenaline into a hard-paced, mutually satisfying release.

He'd just watch himself in the future, he told himself, as he straightened himself up.

* * *

The mountain lodge that Slade had brought Dinah to was cold, making her shiver slightly at the chill. Slade wrapped an arm around her briefly, smiling down at the tiny woman with a hint of amusement.

"You, who run around in nearly any weather in that impractical costume of yours, cold?" he rumbled.

"I'm usually busy kicking someone's butt in that 'impractical costume'," she rebutted. She snuggled into his arm, and let him guide her over to the fireplace. He'd prepared for starting a fire, apparently, before coming to pick her up in the town below, and now settled her on the fur so that he could. She purred at the softness of the fur, noting it had belonged to a bear at one point in time. "Thought you didn't hunt much anymore?"

Slade noted her interest in the rug and shrugged. "That one was ravaging the local garbage cans and deemed too dangerous a nuisance. At least I put it to good use."

She nodded, pulling her knees up under her as she watched him get the fire going. Its flicker quickly captured her attention, letting him have the luxury of watching her in the warm light. 

He had to admit that if the big business contracts allowed him her company like this, that maybe it was a good idea to stick with them for a while. When he first started considering those contracts, it had strictly been to get away from the lifestyle that had kept him fouled up in the Titans' lives, as well as to move away from any business relating to his dead wife's former company.

Watching her, the fire casting a glow over her skin, he could feel a stir of that first desire he'd felt. She had been so capable on their two mutual missions, smarting off at him like she didn't have a care in the world about who he was.

Smarting off fearlessly, like he hadn't been on the verge of killing her a few months prior to that trip to Gorilla City.

He had found it pretty hard to resist that lack of fear, her skill, or the fact he'd come conscious with her holding a gun on him. She might not be a killer by trade, but further investigation of her had revealed a woman with a capability of making hard decisions. And with her current trade in work carrying her close to the jobs he was taking, it had been easy enough to choose a mutual seduction.

"I like your hair down," he rumbled as he slipped behind her, pulling the ponytail out of its holder. He watched her as he did, enjoying that shiver his voice gave her. 

"I'll try to remember that, Slade." She looked up at him, blue eyes searching his singular one. This was all about getting away, testing the waters for where they stood when blood and bullets weren't actually involved.

"Take your coat off, Dinah," he told her, a soft command that she willingly obeyed. Once she had, he settled on his side on the fur, pulling her to lay in front of him, both watching the fire.

"Slade...are you sure we should..."

He covered her lips with a finger, before trailing it along her neck. "We talked it out already, Little Bird. One weekend, no missions, no communications, just you and I."

She pressed into that light touch, and he knew the desire was taking hold of her by that, by her scent, by the way she pushed back to touch him fully with her body.

"Our lives..."

"Don't come in here," he told her, voice firm. He slipped his hand under the hem of her sweater, laying it flat against her stomach. She carried so little in the way of extra flesh, he noted with satisfaction, able to feel the tensing and ripple of solid abs at his touch.

"Alright." She returned the touch with a reach back, running her hand over his hip.

Even if it was just the sex, the danger of this relationship, Slade knew he didn't want to walk away from it. Like Pat Trayce had done, Dinah Lance had given him a focus outside of his work, let him distract himself from the immortality that gripped him and threatened madness at every turn. It probably would not work out in the long run, he knew...she was Roy Harper's mother figure, after all...but for now, he could lose himself in her.

"Nice and warm now," she murmured, a hinting invitation to him as his hand caressed her stomach. He chuckled, low and rough, against her ear, before kissing her neck.

"Is it now?"

He knew just how strong an effect his voice had on women, had even seen his wife, occasionally, shiver at the tones he could project. He was not disappointed by her reaction, as she moaned softly, pressing against him and _moving_ with a full body stretch that made him very aware of her temptations.

"Yes." She rolled away from him, her eyes lit with desire for him as she came to face him. "What do you think we should do about it?" He leaned in, catching her lips with his own, as his hand pushed her sweater up, slowly exposing her skin to the fur, to the warmth of the fire, to his touch. She moaned into his kiss, and the slow seduction he'd thought he wanted became a thing of the past, giving way to him breaking apart so he could get them both undressed.

As he settled her back on the dark fur of the bearskin, the fire's glow flickering over her skin, he smirked at the contrast of her natural hair color again. At the smirk, she blushed a little, feeling far younger than her years truly allowed, no matter what the Lazarus Pit had done to her.

"I think I like the black more than the blonde," he rumbled, slowly kissing along her shoulder to her throat.

"Why?" 

"The contrast against my own coloring," he whispered against her ear, pressing close with his entire body. The arch of her against him was maddening, as he trailed his hand over her arm, supporting himself up over her on the other. He definitely enjoyed the way the fire and his touches seemed to make her eyes smoky-blue.

"Salt and pepper?" she teased in a throaty voice.

"I'd say that sums us up well." His touches trailed down, before he shifted his weight and body. He wanted to taste her, to bring her to the brink of passion by touch and mouth. The small woman pressed into the kisses, the caresses hungrily, a soft gasp escaping her when he settled between her thighs. Gasps became soft cries, and her sharp nails scratched at his shoulders when his tongue and teeth found just the right spot. 

He wasn't sure if he loved the pure sounds of pleasure or the wild buck of her hips more, when he finally took pity on her and slid away, still tasting her on his lips, moving up over her. Mindful of the fact only the bearskin rug cushioned her hips, he rolled, laying on his back to have her over him. She moved the instant he signaled his intent, sliding down on his shaft with the knowing, hungry ease of a mature woman confident in her own body, further maddening his desires.

He watched her, one hand settling on her hip, the other up and caressing her breast. The sight of her rocking on him, long hair swaying in the rhythm of their loving, was one he'd never forget, backlit by the warmth of the fire. When they both came, her with a sharp cry and buckling toward his chest, he could take a moment's comfort in that peace.

Later would be soon enough to bring back paranoia and survival instincts. For now, warmed by fur and fire, he was just a man with a beautiful woman.

* * *

She could never quite hold back the gasp when he pressed her into his chest, turning her to the wall. She would feel, through his body, the impact of the small-caliber rounds on his armor. When he actually winced and hissed, it told her he'd taken one that the armor failed to keep out of his skin.

The next moment they would be moving again, him spinning out to fire //so careful when I run with him not to kill// and her moving to disarm the nearest ones. They had a rhythm now, one that let her move around his actions, staying out of his way with his senses being so far in advance of her own.

Being caught and held, shielded from injury was par for the course as they tore through whatever 'kitchen' they'd found, be it a processing place or a cultivation field for some of the poisons ruining the youth of the day. By the time they would be finished, the police would also be fully alerted and on the way, and the cartel would be down millions of dollars in ruined product; a large dent would be in their local manpower due to the arrests, and both the mercenary and the vigilante would walk away with their respective gains made. He would keep the money from the hire, and she would feel better about making a difference.

He always had a safe haven for them, and it was a rare trip like this that did not find them in each other's arms scarcely had the door closed solidly. His hands would find every inch of her skin, searching for injuries even as she writhed in their skilled touch. She would kiss and taste the sweat and cordite on him, pushing armor out of both of their ways.

Finding his wounds, being irritably told they would heal, was one more part of their coming together. Her fingers slipping along blood-smeared skin in holding onto him as he lifted her to their bed, coming down over her. Then, as much as she had during the run, she would gasp aloud at the way he could so easily control her motions, and he would hiss again, when she would claw deep marks down his back at the suddenness of his taking her. 

Neither of them ever lasted long, not if it had been as satisfying a job as this one had been. She would give him her hands, over her head, and the feel of his body flexing, their hips locked by her ankles catching around his calves, would drive them over the brink and into a panting, hazy recovery.

The fierce, brutal need was as much a part of these runs as was the gentleness that would come in the shower later.


End file.
